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Maybe #prayer isn’t what it always was, but it’s still here—quiet velvet, wrapping my branches. (See my center post for more and for some newer lyrics I’m working on)
If I blame my discontent on you break this silence I keep pushing through and admit I don’t believe in you Will you be there? If I call off this relentless search & stop trying to prove what my love’s worth If I make my bed below the earth will you be there? _______ If I’m honest, this new lyric I’ve been working on is a painfully and beautifully accurate reflection of what it is like to be me and to pray. Right now, questions are all I have. And for some reason I keep bringing them. I keep finding windows and looking through them.
A tree in my yard worth looking at closely. See my center post for some new lyrics ❤️
I love the role that white plays in this scene. A bird oblivious to me, the ruffling trim of the water. Check my center post to read some thoughts on being carried. ❤️
“It was then that I carried you.” When I was young I found that footprints in the sand poem to be deeply comforting. But I’ll be frank; for most of my life I have not felt carried by God. Apparently the author of the poem didn’t either, since there was an explanation from God required at the end of the story. I think part of my problem has been that I have expected to actually *sense* the protection and help of God, as though it would or could be immediately discernible in some emotional or intellectual way. I’m not sure where or why I have had that expectation, but I know I was stuck there for far too long. As I’ve navigated a variegated and truly honest journey of spirituality and faith over the past few years, I have begun a practice of observing the ways and times that I *do* feel carried. There is quite a list, but I’ll abridge it for your sakes and just share a few. I have felt carried by the love and friendship of cherished humans in some of the darkest times of my life. I have felt carried by therapy. I have felt carried by my body. I have felt carried by growing and birthing my children, and watching them see the world, and by watching them learn to receive and give love. I have felt carried by music and art and by dinners with friends. I have felt carried by mountain air and views from planes and drinking a little too much potato vodka in Poland. Today I felt carried by the sand, the magnetic pull of the moon that brought the pleading water in and out over my feet in an endless loop; and by the steep stark cliffs behind me, fringed with pines and succulents and littered with pebbles made smooth by wind and time. So am I being carried by God? I’ll let you answer that in your minds (or in my comments section) however you wish to, for you or for me. I only know that asking that question, which used to feel like being unmoored in space, feels something more like knowing than certainty ever did.
I wanted to take them all home. Check the center post in my feed for some thoughts on that old poem about footprints in the sand. ❤️
Throwback to this shoot from 2013 with @dredrea 😍
Throwback to this shoot from 2013 with @dredrea 😍
Throwback to this shoot from 2013 with @dredrea 😍
Garden State III
Garden State I